


dragon-born

by wildlings (candybank)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Game of Thrones AU, M/M, imagine minghao covered in dragon tattoos.., justa drabble, lmfaooo, stark mingyu, targaryen minghao jeonghan n scoups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 13:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18500335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candybank/pseuds/wildlings
Summary: the black sheep, the silver king, and the crow.





	dragon-born

**Author's Note:**

> finally got into got so !!1!1!!1 heres a thing i wrote in my notes app thought id share nothing rly happens heheh

**the black sheep**

the river has run dry by the time minghao arrives. where he’d dreamt for two years to bathe and splash in clear blue waters, only scorched rubble and dried earth remain.

he tells himself it’s only the heat of the sun, only a god taking the earth back into the sky, though the sun hides behind clouds and snowflakes now, and The Blue Rock, for all its dead glory being a wonder of the kingdoms—glittering waters, and dewdrops made of diamonds; a place so beautiful that creatures both magical and ancient had decided to call it home—now burned to dust and rock, doesn’t seem like any place that any god would ever touch.

“look at that,” he narrows his eyes to keep the breeze from blinding him, scratching Toad’s head. the tiny green dragon on his shoulder croons and gently scratches his snout against minghao’s cheek. warm breath and scales tickle dark ink; they touch the spiky ends of the dragon’s claw buried underneath minghao’s skin, sitting just right above his skull. and his hair, black as mud and cut with rusty scissors, it sways with the wind that blows hot through the snow.

“no place like home, huh, toad?”

the dragon screeches in response, and minghao laughs.

“right. i wonder which one of your brothers did this.”

 

** the silver king **

jeonghan is silver and golden, born as if metal forged into a crown. the child king, they called him for his prodigal mind and talents, and the name had stuck; the child king, they call him whenever he walks the streets and rides into battle and sits on his dragon’s head.

the child king, beloved and admired and respected and feared.

he is both the velvet glove and the iron fist, the firm hand and the kind eyes. he’s bright blonde hair and peculiar glittering blue eyes and the smile of an angel—twice as vile as the devil’s, minghao says.

“i’m back,” minghao greets with a grin, sandals pattering down the steps into his brother’s chamber.

“so i see,” jeonghan glances up from his work, putting his quill down with a sigh. and he tries not to say anything, but minghao has smeared his blonde hair with disgusting black dye again, and he’s dressed in rags like the common traveller he thinks he has the time and luxury to be, and the words pour out of jeonghan’s mouth like fire, “so, is two years away from court enough for you? two years away from your responsibilities? leaving the kingdoms’ treasury to a  stark ?”

from her resting place in the balcony, jeonghan’s dragon narrows her eyes at her father’s company.

“oh, please. mingyu knows what he’s doing,” minghao slips into a seat across the desk, his small dragon’s thin body twisting around one arm of the chair. “like you said, he’s a stark. who better to make sure we spend our money correctly—if at all,” he laughs, but jeonghan remains unamused.

“... we’ve never had duller balls and darker dinners...” jeonghan complains, voice low.

“that, my brother, is called thrift. we inherited a throne with an empty treasury,” minghao shrugs, “it is what it is.”

jeonghan sighs, picking up his quill and dipping it back in ink. “welcome back,” he says, continuing to write, “i expect to see you at the small council meeting tomorrow.

you. not mingyu,” jeonghan clarifies sternly, whispering under his breath, “the half wit.”

 

** the crow **

minghao walks into the room all silver cloak and dark hair and too early; sandals tip-tap-tapping against the marble, as if he wants to be noticed, so seungcheol looks up from his book to notice him.

“hao,” he greets with a smile, “no one told me you were back.” seungcheol motions to stand up and hug him, but minghao knows his brother well enough to know that he doesn’t really mean to do it, so he waves a hand and grins.

“here i am,” he seats himself beside seungcheol, silver silk robe flowing around him like glitter, the black ink covering his chest and neck peeking from the low, billowy neckline of his garment.

“hardly appropriate,” seungcheol remarks with a snicker, eyeing the way the thin material on minghao’s skin glitters in the morning light, his words resembling a compliment more than a warning, “i doubt jeonghan will appreciate it.”

minghao scoffs. “appreciation? i imprisoned my best friend here for two years in a job he hates just so jeonghan could have him within arm’s reach. he should be thanking me.”

seungcheol laughs fondly, ever enjoying his youngest brother’s company. “and they never let us forget it,” he says.

minghao, with his legs crossed over each other, he turns his body to seungcheol and leans in, as if a schoolgirl waiting to hear a secret. “how often? how long after i left? tell me everything.”

seungcheol laughs, and when he shakes his head the extravagant, excessive pieces of silver hanging off his ears and wrapped around his neck jangle against each other, almost as pure and precious as the royal blonde of his hair. “you know him. he likes shiny things.”

“not much less than you, crow,” minghao quips.

seungcheol rolls his eyes and continues, “they were at it nearly every night, if my hearing’s right. whenever i walked by jeonghan’s quarters, i’d hear m—“

“enough chatter,” the closing of the metal doors echo behind jeonghan’s footsteps. and after him, the rest of the small council march. he sits in the largest chair at the head of the table, sets a book down, and runs his fingers through his hair once before turning the pages.

“morning all,” he starts, “before we begin, i’d like to remind everyone that my brother, minghao, will be reassuming his position as master of the coin.

now, where did we stop?”


End file.
